


Before Tomorrow Comes

by sidewinder



Category: A Better Tomorrow
Genre: Challenge Response, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:18:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Then what of us, old friend, are we not worth anything?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Before Tomorrow Comes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a "missing scene" POV piece for the John Woo film, "A Better Tomorrow". The challenge: 500 words or less, must begin or end with one character saying, "The rest is silence."
> 
> The following story is written entirely for fun and not for any profit. No attempt is made to supersede or infringe upon the copyrights held by any television or film companies upon which this story is based.

The lights of Hong Kong spread out across the valley below us. You say their beauty is not worthwhile because they will not last. Then what of us, old friend, are we not worth anything? I know we are as doomed to fade away as the city skyline. We are already outdated, here in this world that no longer has a place for us.

I tell you this, and you only smile and shake your head, then ask for another cigarette. You are a damn stubborn man, Mark. I know you will not listen to me. You won't be happy until you've had your revenge for my three years in prison, your leg, everything we've lost. And you know that I will help you, no matter how much I protest, because you can't do this alone.

"We last, Ho. We're more than this..." You wave toward the lights. "We take down Shing, and no one will forget us. We can leave and start over, just like you want to."

I shake my head. "I don't care if we're remembered. Being remembered won't be much consolation if we're dead." I look at your swollen face and bloodied shirt, remember the terror I felt when I first saw you tonight and feared you were dead. "I don't want one of us to be left waiting for the other again--waiting for parole or for death."

"You may not care. I do. I won't let them remember me like this, crippled and taking their handouts."

The same impasse, again and again. All I want is to move on and start a new life, forget the past--the past you cling to. And I can't let you go.

We sit in silence for a long time, watching the lights of the city. I know you know what my answer will be. I will help you, and not out of obligation but out of honor, friendship, love. You are more my brother than my own flesh and blood. You are the only family I have left...

And you waited for me.

If it is now my turn to wait, I will.

"I want to hear some music," you say.

I go to the cab, turn on the radio. The reception is clear up here, and the music soft and somber, about lost love and unrealized dreams. I go back to sit beside you, and you lean against me. I can feel you're tired, hurting, frightened, though you hate to show any of these things. I pull you closer and try not to think of what will come tomorrow, whether we will succeed or fail, whether we will both still be here at the end of the day. Our lives have never been certain. Each day we have is a gift.

I wish you could understand that and let the rest of it go.

The rest doesn't matter. Fleeting or not, we are beauty, we are music, we are life.

The rest is silence.


End file.
